


Freshly Fallen

by sshomoerotica



Series: Wranduin Week 2019 [1]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Gen, M/M, Wranduin Week 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-04
Updated: 2019-03-04
Packaged: 2019-11-09 08:08:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17998115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sshomoerotica/pseuds/sshomoerotica
Summary: Wrathion ignores him, of course. He steps out, making footprints in the snow. His face transforms with awe, looking down at his own feet and then up at Anduin."It is so cold! I've never felt anything like it!"





	Freshly Fallen

**Author's Note:**

> _Wranduin Week 2019_  
>  **Prompt:** "Firsts"

The Stair - as most of Pandaria has been, to Anduin’s experience - is a warm and stable clime consisting of a pleasant warmth and vague humidity. Some days wind whips up from the valleys below, other days are intense and dry and hot. 

Anduin never expected it to snow. 

He knows, of course, that there are areas of Pandaria where it does snow, but he hadn't thought the weather would shift so drastically here, tucked just so behind the mountains that frame and protect the Vale of Eternal Blossoms. 

He awakes to it one morning, chilled and startled to see his breath cloud as he slips from bed and to the window. The glass is hazed over in frost; Anduin takes the overlong sleeve of his night shirt and wipes it clean. Outside, everything is coated in a pristine layer of white that glows with the sun. 

He takes a blanket from the armchair of his room, wraps it around his shoulders, slips on his leather boots and hobbles stiffly down the stairs. Now he supposes he'll have to request that his warmer clothes be sent out, the next time he writes home to Stormwind - although, maybe he can find something here? He's seen the traveling Grummle traders come through the pass dressed in thick ear-flap caps and woolen vests. Then again, he wonders if anything they'd have to trade would even fit him. 

The guard in the lobby looks up as Anduin takes the stairs, nods, and then looks away, which he finds himself thankful for. When first they came to this tavern for Anduin's recuperation, the guards had treated him as if he were delicate glass - a clumsy feat in and of itself, when being handled by gauntleted hands that barely knew how to apply a bandage. Now at least they trust him to take the stairs alone. 

Tong is already up and bustling about the tavern; resetting stools and wiping down the bar; moving between the kitchen and the store room with great kegs of brew or crates of goods. 

"Good morning, Anduin." He says over his shoulder with a bright smile, and Anduin is hard pressed to think of any race that can exude such warmth and kindness in a simple gesture. 

"Morning Tong." 

He gestures to Anduin's shoulders. "Cold?" He teases. 

"No." Anduin smiles back. "I'm doing my best to look as regal as possible just for you today." He wiggles his arms beneath the blanket, just to make Tong laugh. The Pandaren shakes his head and returns to business; Anduin can still hear him chuckling as he heads back into the store room. 

Pulling his feeble cloak yet tighter around his shoulders, Anduin moves to the doorway and stares out at the pristine snow. The cool air whips around him, easily slicing through the thin cotton of his shirt and pants. There are icicles dangling from the roof, some as long as Anduin's forearm. 

"Is that snow?" 

Anduin turns and sees Wrathion coming down the stairs. 

"Yes." Anduin nods. "I confess... I'm surprised to see it up here. I didn't think the weather here would change so drastically." 

"We do not have our hot spring for nothing, your highness!" Tong chimes in from the store room, and laughs good naturedly. 

Anduin starts to say something witty in response when Wrathion speaks again. 

"I've never seen it before." 

Anduin stares at Wrathion, confused, before he understands. He looks outside and then back at Wrathion. 

"Snow?" 

"Hmm. I know _what_ it is, of course." Wrathion tacks on hurriedly. "I only... I have never been to anywhere that has it." 

Wrathion steps closer to the doorway and Anduin steps aside. 

"You aren't wearing any shoes, Wrathion!" He cautions."You might want to--" 

Wrathion ignores him, of course. He steps out, making footprints in the snow. All at once his usually stoic face transforms - eyes wide, eyebrows shooting up, mouth hanging slack. He looks down at his own feet and then back up at Anduin. 

"It is so cold! I've never felt anything like it!" 

Anduin chuckles, watching as Wrathion takes a moment to look around; he reaches out to touch the tip of a glimmering icicle; he scoops up a handful of snow and lets it melt upon the skin of his palm, water dripping between his fingers. 

Having known Wrathion for a fair bit of time, Anduin still often forgets how young the man - the  _ dragon _ \- is. He looks to be roughly of Anduin's age, give-or-take, when in reality he has been outside his egg for little over two years. Dragons age differently, he knows, and Wrathion's guise does not reflect his age nor his size as a dragon. It is easy to forget he is a whelp, barely bigger than Anduin's head. Yet the way he speaks and carries himself, how he knows so much and plays so well games of strategy and diplomacy -- he can be forgiven for forgetting that Wrathion is, in many ways, no better than a child. 

"I can show you how to make a snowball, if you'd like." Anduin offers. There's a huff of laughter from the inn. Anduin turns and sees both Left and Right, looking out at Wrathion with no small amount of affection on their faces, although it is tempered with a teasing eye roll shared between them. 

"Snowball?" 

"Yes." Anduin gingerly steps out, staying under the overhang of the Tavern to keep his feet from the snow. He bends down and cups a handful of snow - it's not quite the right consistency, but it will do. He forms the ball between his hands, explaining to Wrathion as he does so. 

"Humans make these snowballs? To what purpose?" 

"For fun. It's a game amongst children, mostly, although I've even caught a guard or two break the tension with a round." He chances a glance inside, grinning when he sees the soldier inside looking at him.

"A round of what?" 

When Anduin turns back to Wrathion, he finds that he's made a snowball of his own. Always a fast learner.

"A snowball fight. You, ah," Anduin mimes throwing the snow. 

"I'm to throw this at you, then?" Wrathion hefts the snowball in his hand. 

"That would be the point." Anduin shrugs and smiles. "For the children it is often a game of avoiding being hit." 

There's something like a smile on Wrathion's face as he listens. Anduin enjoys for a moment the carefree expression, the not-so-rigid stance, the feeling like they're nothing more than peers on holiday. Wrathion's clawed hands wrap around the snowball nearly completely, and he looks mischievously at Anduin in a way that bodes ill. He squawks indignantly at Wrathion when he raises the hand holding the snowball, threatening to throw it. 

"Wrathion,  no \- I'm in my sleep clothes, I'll get soaked; don't you dare-!" He starts, laughter bubbling up. He ducks behind a pillar and jerks when he hears the sharp snap of the snowball hitting the wood. The snow breaks apart and sprays icy mist onto Anduin's shirtsleeve.

"Oh, it is  _on_." He hisses to himself, and lets loose.

They go on like that for a ridiculously long time, laughing and taunting and hopping from hiding place to hiding place. In a wild throw, Anduin hits Wrathion square in the back of his head. It knocks his turban off, snow getting buried in his exposed hair. Anduin gasps and makes an aborted cry, even as he laughs. 

"I'm sorry Wrathion!" He bites back another laugh. "Oh, are you okay?" 

He starts to walk over; Wrathion is frozen in the half-bent-over stance he'd been in that allowed Anduin to hit him in the first place. 

"Need I remind you, I _am_ a _dragon_ , Anduin, and as such I am made of stronger stuff than can be harmed by a ball of snow." Wrathion grumbles, pushing to his feet. 

Anduin breathes a sigh of relief -- more than anything he feared having broken the mood by making Wrathion mad -- only to have it turn into a pitchy shriek as Wrathion rights himself and deposits an armful of snow directly onto Anduin's head. 

Everything goes very silent - Anduin shocked to stillness and Wrathion smiling like a cat that got the cream - before Anduin shakes his head, lunges at Wrathion and snaps, "I hope you realize this means _war_ ,  dragon ." 

"I am positively shaking,  _your highness_." 

A tustle, short lived as it is, beaks out between them. Cold melting snow drips and slides down the back of Anduin's shirt. He and Wrathion are both fairly soaked, and as the adrenaline of their play fades, the cold begins to set in. Anduin shivers. 

"Anduin," Wrathion says, an observation colored by confusion. "You are cold." 

"Ah-aren't y-you?" 

"My body is much warmer than your own." Wrathion sniffs. "I have a bit better tolerance for this than you do." He looks Anduin up and down. "Still, I believe it may be time to put that hot spring to use." 

Anduin nods and shakes his head again, loosening the last bit of snow. "A w-wuh-wond-d-derful idea." 

Wrathion helps Anduin to his feet, and the two dust themselves free of snow as best they can. Anduin can see that the snow has gotten itself nestled well in the many folds and grooves of Wrathion's fancier dress. He casts an eye about for the turban, but fears it may be lost until the snow melts. 

They stomp their feet heartily in the doorway to knock the last of the snow from their bodies, and then Wrathion leads the way across the room and out the back. Anduin can feel the disapproving gaze of the guard upon him, and hopes this romp won't make it into whatever reports are being sent back to his father. The last thing he needs is to be reprimanded for having a snowball fight with the last of the black dragonflight -- he can see that conversation going so well. 

"I'll have tea waiting for you in your room when you retire, Anduin." Tong offers. "And perhaps some warm porridge?" 

Anduin nods his head, teeth gritted to keep his teeth from chattering. "Sounds p-perf-f-fect. Th-thank you, Tong." 

The hot spring is a deep, still, transparent blue, and steam is coming off of it like smoke from a fire. It clouds most of the outdoor area from sight. The smooth gray stone around it is warm under Anduin's nearly-numb feet. He shivers again as the steam envelopes him, cold wet dripping from his brow and ears. 

Without preamble, Wrathion strips down to his smallclothes, leaving his expensive-looking robes and wrappings to lie in the snow.  Anduin flushes and looks away. 

He takes off his own clothing only while Wrathion's back is turned as he enters the spring, and hops in quickly afterward. 

Right comes out, seeming to materialize from the mist itself as they settle into the spring. She takes both Wrathion's clothing as well as Anduin's shirt and pants and takes them inside. Anduin nods a quick thanks to her. 

The heat of the water stings at first, biting at the parts of Anduin's skin that had begun to go numb from the cold. Before he can doubt himself, he dunks his head beneath the water and surfaces again with a gasp. He sighs and leans back, letting his head rest against the stone. 

"Good call." He says, almost moaning in how pleasant the water feels. 

" _All_ my ideas are good ones, Prince Anduin. You'll come to learn that, in time." 

They both laugh, and Anduin lays still and lets the heat work its way into his frozen bones. 

He isn't sure how long it is that they soak, quiet and comfortable, when he feels the first snowflake fall and settle on his cheek. He opens his eyes when Wrathion makes a sound; the man is looking upward with no small amount of awe as the snow begins to come in earnest, a flurry of small flakes falling gently downward. 

Anduin watches as he reaches out with a hand, steam rising from his skin. Wrathion's eyes widen almost imperceptibly as the snowflakes land in his palm and melt almost immediately. "They are so tiny, and yet so intricate." 

"It is said by some that every single flake is unique." Anduin shrugs, and tries to will the errant warmth out from his cheeks. He glances away from Wrathion for a moment, and then looks back. He still looks to all the world as a child, overjoyed at his first snowy day. 

"It's beautiful." He breathes, tilting his head back. His long neck draws Anduin's eye and he realizes how rare it is to see Wrathion absent his head-to-toe wrappings. His skin is flushed with the heat, his hair curling with it. Steam billows in thick clouds from his mouth as he talks, and he seems a true dragon in a man's body. 

"Yes." Anduin says, so soft as almost to not be heard. "It truly is."

**Author's Note:**

> Lemme know if there's any errors, I didn't get this beta read.


End file.
